yellow country of the Winkies," said Ojo sadly, "is the only place
in Oz where a yellow butterfly can be found."

"I'm glad of that," said the Tin Woodman. "As I rule the Winkie
Country, I can protect my butterflies."

"Unless I get the wing--just one left wing--" said Ojo miserably, "I
can't save Unc Nunkie."

"Then he must remain a marble statue forever," declared the Tin
Emperor, firmly.

Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back the tears.

"I'll tell you what to do," said Scraps. "We'll take a whole yellow
butterfly, alive and well, to the Crooked Magician, and let him pull
the left wing off."

"No, you won't," said the Tin Woodman. "You can't have one of my dear
little butterflies to treat in that way."

"Then what in the world shall we do?" asked Dorothy.

They all became silent and thoughtful. No one spoke for a long time.
Then the Tin Woodman suddenly roused himself and said:

"We must all go back to the Emerald City and ask Ozma's advice. She's a
wise little girl, our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo save
his Unc Nunkie."

So the following morning the party started on the journey to the
Emerald City, which they reached in due time without any important
adventure. It was a sad journey for Ojo, for without the wing of the
yellow butterfly he saw no way to save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited six
years for the Crooked Magician to make a new lot of the Powder of Life.
The boy was utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he groaned
aloud.

"Is anything hurting you?" inquired the Tin Woodman in a kindly tone,
for the Emperor was with the party.

"I'm Ojo the Unlucky," replied the boy. "I might have known I would
fail in anything I tried to do."

"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?" asked the tin man.

"Because I was born on a Friday."

"Friday is not unlucky," declared the Emperor. "It's just one of seven
days. Do you suppose all the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the
time?"

"It was the thirteenth day of the month," said Ojo.

"Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number," replied the Tin Woodman.
"All my good luck seems to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most
people never notice the good luck that comes to them with the number
13, and yet if the least bit of bad luck falls on that day, they blame
it to the number, and not to the proper cause."

"Thirteen's my lucky number, too," remarked the Scarecrow.

"And mine," said Scraps. "I've just thirteen patches on my head."